Author's note: This chapter is for trailchick, who wrote me a very nice review and was clamoring for a longer chapter. I hope I delivered. ?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Everything changes with the passage of time.
This is a fact of life that most mortals are familiar with, due to the transitory nature of their brief existences here on Earth. Everywhere in one's environment, one can observe that nothing ever stays the same. Change is inevitable and is ironically the only thing that remains constant; hence a good deal of the difficulties in life come from reconciling the way things are with the way things formerly were.
One would think that after witnessing so many changes, immortals and demons with unusually long life-spans should be jaded by now. Yet paradoxically, this is untrue. It is harder to get rid of one's preconceptions and misconceptions if they have held true for centuries, if not millennia. One could even say that these immortals became fixed in their thoughts as well as in their habits, gradually petrifying because of their ever-increasing intolerance for ambiguity. But no one not even immortals, are immune to surprises, and the passage of time only serves to emphasize that fact.
Demon culture is radically different from human culture because it still operates on the arcane rules of social interaction. It has existed for millions of years long before the first humans ever walked the Earth and it provided the seeds for the civilization of mankind, no matter how vehemently puritanically-minded humans and knowledgeable antiquarians may deny it. There is great significance given to personal bonds like friendship or blood relations because of the way their lives are still shaped by tradition and instability. One cannot survive alone in Hell.
Alliances are constantly formed and preserved because of the unceasing warfare. Every single demon is highly desirous of power and conscious about their position in the hierarchy. Even the lowliest, the most self-effacing and the most harmless-looking demons are looking for a way to get ahead. (Yes, even Clem.)
Because everyone is a potential ally and a potential enemy, the rules that govern social interaction among the minions of Hell created a demand for a currency that would hold true despite any changes in the power structures. They needed a way to cultivate loyalty in demons (a rare trait indeed) and one that would ensure that every kind gesture or act of vengeance would be returned in kind.
They were called favors.
This web of reciprocal obligations formed the basis for solidarity among demons. No favor is ever unpaid, unless one wants to suffer ostracism and become a pariah. Needless to say that no one ever wanted to be known as a pariah, since it made one an easy target. In a game of chess, the fear of retribution is what protects certain pieces from getting wiped clean off the board. Demon politics operated along a similar principle- a head for an eye and a leg for a tooth.
This is why there were always wars and blood feuds in Hell, since every act of violence was avenged and led to only more violence to perpetuate the vicious cycle.
But enough about Hell and all of its infernal machinations.
We were talking about Spike, next to whom all other topics seem dull and secondary.
The previous digression from our protagonist may seem unforgivable and completely gratuitous, but it actually had a purpose. It provided the background information necessary for one to understand exactly why Spike had called this particular game of kitten poker.
All the other players at the table were indebted to Spike in one way or another, with the exception of Clem (aptly christened 'Loose Skinned Man' by Darcy in her journal) who was there simply because Spike liked his company and he was never one to turn down a good game of poker, followed by a feast of felines.
On Spike's left sat Misha, who was the half demon, half human who was indebted to Spike because of the time he saved his life back in 1912 in the Rue St. Germain. Misha was the one christened 'the Man with Three Eyes' by Darcy, although his third eye was imperceptible for normal humans and demons. Misha was also the unwitting sponsor of Darcy's current internment since he was the one who gave the GBH to Spike, with the encouragement "Guaranteed to work on any woman!"
On Spike's right sat Jh'tygn, a Ni'tyani demon from the Eascherren dimension who was also indebted to Spike because of a financial transaction that had gone wrong. Because Jh'tygn's brother was not able to provide the services that Spike had paid for (namely, the killing of a Slayer back in the late 1970's), Jh'tygn had incurred the debt and had to pay it in his brother's place. He was doubly indebted to Spike because the latter had indirectly avenged his brother's death by killing the Slayer who caused it. By the process of elimination, one can deduce that he was the one who had blue skin and a handsome set of horns that curved like a ram's on top of his head.
Spike had spent weeks planning this little get-together, since he fully intended to use the resources available to him in order to get his chip out. He had waited patiently for his schemes to come to fruition, which was highly uncharacteristic of him when one considers his tendency to act on impulse. However, when it came to important matters, Spike discovered that he was more than willing to wait.
As soon as Darcy had left the room they resumed their discussion in English, since Spike was more than just a little rusty at speaking Eascheran and besides it was quite rude to speak a foreign language in front of Clem who was only fluent in the local patois.
"She can see me." Misha said, as soon as he heard the telltale closing of a door. "That girl, she looked right at my third eye."
"Of course she didn't. You're just being paranoid." Clem dismissed, taking a swig of his beer.
"No. That girl was looking right at it. Direct eye contact." Misha was getting sort of worried. He was always highly strung, as a result of an unnatural love of coffee (caffeine was an illegal drug in his dimension, so he never passed up a good cup of coffee) and just because he had a nervous disposition.
"Would you stop that? You always get like this. It's always like 'man, I'm getting a bad feeling about this bourgeoisie, aristocracy and peasant thing, especially that Robespierre guy. Let's get out of France'. Or if you're not ragging on the French, it's like 'Man, this thing with the Germans and the Japanese… That Hitler dude is whacked. There's gonna be some crazy shit going down. Bad vibes, bad vibes.' Can't you just relax? It's always about 'bad vibes' with you!" Jh'tygn said, sick of Misha's paranoia.
"I can't help it! I'm psychic. And by the way, I do not and I will never speak like that. I don't talk like something out of a Bill and Ted's Adventure, unlike some other people at this table." Misha complained.
The funny thing was, he really was psychic. And just like all other true psychics and persons of prescient vision in history, no one ever believed him. This usually worked to his advantage when it came to gambling and card games like this one, but it was a real bitch whenever he had something important to prophesize about.
He didn't object to keeping human pets or companions around, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something slightly off about this situation with Spike. For one, he thought it was in extremely bad taste to keep a human that you intended to eat as a roommate. Another was that he was certain that the girl could see his third eye when no ordinary humans or even other demons could see it. The only other people he had ever met to whom it was visible to were the members of his Support Group for psychics afflicted with the 'Cassandra Complex', Drusilla and the Erythracean Oracle Ka'yeh. Very odd indeed.
He tried to concentrate on the game, but it really wasn't any fun if you already knew all the cards of the other members. And besides, his wife would kill him if he brought home any more kittens to adopt. A good fraction of his winnings at the casinos were paying for milk, kibble and cat litter.
'Ah, to hell with it', he thought. He flung his cards on the table. "Spike, I want out of the game. I have to talk to you."
Spike looked up from his cards at the tone of Misha's voice, the very same one he used when he was about to impart some really good advice or when he was about to yammer on about some far-flung 'vision' that was completely irrelevant. Either way, Spike was grateful for the diversion. His cards sucked.
"Yeah? What about?" He said, cocking an eyebrow up in inquiry.
"That girl- the one that was just here. Where did you find her?"
Immediately Spike was on the defensive. He didn't trust anyone, especially hybrids. But he was also curious about what it was that Misha noticed about Darcy. He decided to bite.
"Oh, at some bar." Well, he wasn't really lying, now was he? It was simply a matter of tactful exclusion is all. No need to rile up anybody's feathers by mentioning the Slayer.
"I just took her home and I realized that I could do with a bit of domestic service around here is all. Why, what did you see?" Spike kept his tone casual and affected an air of extreme nonchalance, all the while thinking that he was such a smooth operator and a master thespian. Smart too. (A narcissist was what he was. But then again, he was just overcompensating, so all is forgiven.)
"Well, it's not really a matter of what I saw but it's more of a matter of what she saw. In order to see my third eye she would have to be either a Gi'turi and human half-breed like me, but you can count that possibility out because she doesn't seem to have a third eye of her own. Another possibility is that she's a complete nutter like Dru but she strikes me as somewhat lucid and sane. The third and most likely one is that she's something completely different."
He thought about his next question, deciding how to pose it in a way that would be inoffensive to Spike. Then he thought, screw it, you only live for two millennia anyway. Might as well live on the edge. So he came right out and asked him.
"Spike, did you kidnap her from the Order of Eythrace or from the Order of Apollo?"
All activity in the room stopped and a tense silence filled the air. Jh'tygn dropped his cards and his jaw, and even oblivious Clem looked up in interest. All eyes turned to Spike, who merely blinked and said "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Spike. Did you kidnap her from the any of the two Orders?"
Spike thought about it long and hard. He had known about the cults that had survived throughout the ages, worshipping older gods of Olympian pantheons past. They presided over the realm of the arcane knowledge and they were the instigators and inventors of many esoteric practices that carried over from pagan times. They also trained and selected young women who showed prescient potential for induction into their order as future Oracles. He had even met Ka'yeh, the current Oracle of Erythrace in a party at Henry Miller's flat many years ago. But he highly doubted that this had anything to do with the Order of Oracles, especially since the candidates were usually chosen before puberty, while Darcy was already 21.
"No. I didn't take her from any of the Orders. She's just some girl. Maybe you're just being paranoid and she didn't actually see anything." He took some kittens out of his crate and raised the stakes to three kittens. He really didn't like where this talk was going so he decided to change the subject.
"Have you checked on those neuroscientists I was talking about?" Spike asked, hoping divert flow of the conversation away from ancient Orders and Darcy. Besides, the reason for this meeting was to find out what information they had gathered about this chip.
"Yes. Apparently one of them, Filche is working at the Gestalt Institute in Germany. He's in the middle of some research work but he should be back in a month or two. Another one, Eisenbaum, just died recently- the obituary was on the New York Times about a week ago. Posh funeral. Juster is retired somewhere in New England and Norton is teaching at a private college in Boston." Misha replied, having spent the past three weeks making personal visits select members of the roster of the American Psychological Association.
When Spike first started his investigations he deduced that at least a few members of the APA were consulted by the government when they designed the chip, specifically those working within the behavioral and neuroscience perspectives. Sure enough, after giving Misha some money to bribe the clerks at the filing office, he was able to find the names of which the neuroscientists that Walsh and the Initiative contracted. There were four names- Juster, Norton, Eisenbaum and Filche, and the idea was to discover if one of them was the 'specialist' that Wolfram and Hart had offered to send him to.
This directly tied to another trail that Spike was pursuing concerning the chip's manufacturers. He was able to obtain some copies of government files that pertained to the companies they subcontracted. The problem was that it wasn't really a matter of which companies were contracted by the government, but rather which companies weren't. However, he was sure that the psychological consultant for the chip would know about who built it. If he couldn't get the damn thing surgically removed, then he would go to the manufacturer and find a loophole or a method of disarming it.
In the meantime he had also assigned Jh'tygn to look for other methods of chipectomy by asking around the demon world. Since Spike had attained the status of pariah amongst his own kind and other demons, his mobility was often limited to shrinking social circles. Hence Jh'tygn served as his eyes and ears about what was happening.
"Which of them have immediate family or anybody we could get to them through?" Spike asked, taking out a cigarette from his pack of Marlboros. "You know- small children, wives and lovers… That sort of thing. Easy collateral."
"Well, Eisenbaum was the one who had children, but he's dead and useless. Filche is a bachelor and some say, the biggest creampuff this side of Bob Liberace. Juster is married and has two grown sons while Norton just got divorced from his second wife, no kids." Misha said, flipping through a dossier that he produced from his bag.
"Hey, can you guys keep it down? We're trying to play a game here", said Clem, who (along with Jh'tygn) had apparently regained his interest in poker even after all the talk of Oracles and whatnot this evening.
Spike sighed and decided to retire his hand. He turned to Jh'tygn and after a brief inquiry about what he found out about the chip, he encouraged him to keep looking. He motioned to Misha to follow him to the couch where they could have a private talk without disturbing the poker enthusiasts.
"What are you thinking?" asked Misha, as soon as he joined Spike on the couch.
"Well, I was wondering about which doctor you thought was the one that was working under Wolfram and Hart." Spike said, his brow furrowed.
"Filche seems to be a pretty clean guy- his interest is mainly research, so I doubt that he would sully his hands with the Wolfram folk. Juster retired because of arthritis, so I doubt the old fogey can even hold a scalpel. I think that the most likely bet is Norton, since I doubt he's getting paid very highly at that private school teaching job. Plus he's got alimony payments to make for his bitca of a second wife. You should see this broad- fake nails, fuchsia pink outfits, poodles- she's a real piece of work. Bet she's sleeping with her trainer or-"
"Don't get so carried away. What about Eisenbaum?" Spike asked, rubbing his forehead.
"It could have been Eisenbaum but tough luck, he's dead."
They sat there in silence, contemplating the futility of their task.
"What do your psychic vibes tell you about this?" Spike inquired, thinking privately that Misha's supposed prescience never did anybody any good.
"Sorry boss. Not really getting anything on this one. I can only tell what's about to happen- I can't tell about the past. Besides, these things are pretty erratic. People just can't summon them up at will and I don't have any crystal balls or that voodoo hoodoo."
"Right."
Spike leaned his head back on the couch exhausted from all of these weeks of planning and taking care of Darcy. He was under a lot of stress lately and he wasn't getting any help from the Slayer or those so-called white hats.
The past few days had been a flurry of preparation, of phone calls and inquiries that had finally culminated in a meeting comparing notes. If Darcy wasn't around he could do all of this investigation himself, but he was hampered by her presence.
However, he had to concede that if he didn't have her there, he also wouldn't have one more thing to barter with- the money. Plus, he could always hand her over to the folks at Wolfram and Hart in case all of his current endeavors ended in failure.
Suddenly, he became very curious about what it was that Misha sensed in Darcy. It might actually shed some light on why Buffy had asked him to protect her and why the firm was so desperate to have her.
He turned to his companion.
"Hey, are you positive that she saw your third eye?"
Misha met his gaze full on. "One hundred percent sure."
"How did you know?"
"Gut feeling. You know… I'm psychic." Misha shrugged.
Spike thought about it for a while.
"Dru could do this thing where she would go into somebody's head to find out if they were telling the truth or to see if there was anything that made them tick." He said slowly, not sure if the half-breed would be amenable to doing what he was suggesting.
"Are you saying that I should do a mind probe?"
Spike looked away from the intense stare that he was suddenly on the receiving end of.
"Maybe. Possibly."
Then after a beat, he amended.
"Definitely."
TBC
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Everything changes with the passage of time.
This is a fact of life that most mortals are familiar with, due to the transitory nature of their brief existences here on Earth. Everywhere in one's environment, one can observe that nothing ever stays the same. Change is inevitable and is ironically the only thing that remains constant; hence a good deal of the difficulties in life come from reconciling the way things are with the way things formerly were.
One would think that after witnessing so many changes, immortals and demons with unusually long life-spans should be jaded by now. Yet paradoxically, this is untrue. It is harder to get rid of one's preconceptions and misconceptions if they have held true for centuries, if not millennia. One could even say that these immortals became fixed in their thoughts as well as in their habits, gradually petrifying because of their ever-increasing intolerance for ambiguity. But no one not even immortals, are immune to surprises, and the passage of time only serves to emphasize that fact.
Demon culture is radically different from human culture because it still operates on the arcane rules of social interaction. It has existed for millions of years long before the first humans ever walked the Earth and it provided the seeds for the civilization of mankind, no matter how vehemently puritanically-minded humans and knowledgeable antiquarians may deny it. There is great significance given to personal bonds like friendship or blood relations because of the way their lives are still shaped by tradition and instability. One cannot survive alone in Hell.
Alliances are constantly formed and preserved because of the unceasing warfare. Every single demon is highly desirous of power and conscious about their position in the hierarchy. Even the lowliest, the most self-effacing and the most harmless-looking demons are looking for a way to get ahead. (Yes, even Clem.)
Because everyone is a potential ally and a potential enemy, the rules that govern social interaction among the minions of Hell created a demand for a currency that would hold true despite any changes in the power structures. They needed a way to cultivate loyalty in demons (a rare trait indeed) and one that would ensure that every kind gesture or act of vengeance would be returned in kind.
They were called favors.
This web of reciprocal obligations formed the basis for solidarity among demons. No favor is ever unpaid, unless one wants to suffer ostracism and become a pariah. Needless to say that no one ever wanted to be known as a pariah, since it made one an easy target. In a game of chess, the fear of retribution is what protects certain pieces from getting wiped clean off the board. Demon politics operated along a similar principle- a head for an eye and a leg for a tooth.
This is why there were always wars and blood feuds in Hell, since every act of violence was avenged and led to only more violence to perpetuate the vicious cycle.
But enough about Hell and all of its infernal machinations.
We were talking about Spike, next to whom all other topics seem dull and secondary.
The previous digression from our protagonist may seem unforgivable and completely gratuitous, but it actually had a purpose. It provided the background information necessary for one to understand exactly why Spike had called this particular game of kitten poker.
All the other players at the table were indebted to Spike in one way or another, with the exception of Clem (aptly christened 'Loose Skinned Man' by Darcy in her journal) who was there simply because Spike liked his company and he was never one to turn down a good game of poker, followed by a feast of felines.
On Spike's left sat Misha, who was the half demon, half human who was indebted to Spike because of the time he saved his life back in 1912 in the Rue St. Germain. Misha was the one christened 'the Man with Three Eyes' by Darcy, although his third eye was imperceptible for normal humans and demons. Misha was also the unwitting sponsor of Darcy's current internment since he was the one who gave the GBH to Spike, with the encouragement "Guaranteed to work on any woman!"
On Spike's right sat Jh'tygn, a Ni'tyani demon from the Eascherren dimension who was also indebted to Spike because of a financial transaction that had gone wrong. Because Jh'tygn's brother was not able to provide the services that Spike had paid for (namely, the killing of a Slayer back in the late 1970's), Jh'tygn had incurred the debt and had to pay it in his brother's place. He was doubly indebted to Spike because the latter had indirectly avenged his brother's death by killing the Slayer who caused it. By the process of elimination, one can deduce that he was the one who had blue skin and a handsome set of horns that curved like a ram's on top of his head.
Spike had spent weeks planning this little get-together, since he fully intended to use the resources available to him in order to get his chip out. He had waited patiently for his schemes to come to fruition, which was highly uncharacteristic of him when one considers his tendency to act on impulse. However, when it came to important matters, Spike discovered that he was more than willing to wait.
As soon as Darcy had left the room they resumed their discussion in English, since Spike was more than just a little rusty at speaking Eascheran and besides it was quite rude to speak a foreign language in front of Clem who was only fluent in the local patois.
"She can see me." Misha said, as soon as he heard the telltale closing of a door. "That girl, she looked right at my third eye."
"Of course she didn't. You're just being paranoid." Clem dismissed, taking a swig of his beer.
"No. That girl was looking right at it. Direct eye contact." Misha was getting sort of worried. He was always highly strung, as a result of an unnatural love of coffee (caffeine was an illegal drug in his dimension, so he never passed up a good cup of coffee) and just because he had a nervous disposition.
"Would you stop that? You always get like this. It's always like 'man, I'm getting a bad feeling about this bourgeoisie, aristocracy and peasant thing, especially that Robespierre guy. Let's get out of France'. Or if you're not ragging on the French, it's like 'Man, this thing with the Germans and the Japanese… That Hitler dude is whacked. There's gonna be some crazy shit going down. Bad vibes, bad vibes.' Can't you just relax? It's always about 'bad vibes' with you!" Jh'tygn said, sick of Misha's paranoia.
"I can't help it! I'm psychic. And by the way, I do not and I will never speak like that. I don't talk like something out of a Bill and Ted's Adventure, unlike some other people at this table." Misha complained.
The funny thing was, he really was psychic. And just like all other true psychics and persons of prescient vision in history, no one ever believed him. This usually worked to his advantage when it came to gambling and card games like this one, but it was a real bitch whenever he had something important to prophesize about.
He didn't object to keeping human pets or companions around, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something slightly off about this situation with Spike. For one, he thought it was in extremely bad taste to keep a human that you intended to eat as a roommate. Another was that he was certain that the girl could see his third eye when no ordinary humans or even other demons could see it. The only other people he had ever met to whom it was visible to were the members of his Support Group for psychics afflicted with the 'Cassandra Complex', Drusilla and the Erythracean Oracle Ka'yeh. Very odd indeed.
He tried to concentrate on the game, but it really wasn't any fun if you already knew all the cards of the other members. And besides, his wife would kill him if he brought home any more kittens to adopt. A good fraction of his winnings at the casinos were paying for milk, kibble and cat litter.
'Ah, to hell with it', he thought. He flung his cards on the table. "Spike, I want out of the game. I have to talk to you."
Spike looked up from his cards at the tone of Misha's voice, the very same one he used when he was about to impart some really good advice or when he was about to yammer on about some far-flung 'vision' that was completely irrelevant. Either way, Spike was grateful for the diversion. His cards sucked.
"Yeah? What about?" He said, cocking an eyebrow up in inquiry.
"That girl- the one that was just here. Where did you find her?"
Immediately Spike was on the defensive. He didn't trust anyone, especially hybrids. But he was also curious about what it was that Misha noticed about Darcy. He decided to bite.
"Oh, at some bar." Well, he wasn't really lying, now was he? It was simply a matter of tactful exclusion is all. No need to rile up anybody's feathers by mentioning the Slayer.
"I just took her home and I realized that I could do with a bit of domestic service around here is all. Why, what did you see?" Spike kept his tone casual and affected an air of extreme nonchalance, all the while thinking that he was such a smooth operator and a master thespian. Smart too. (A narcissist was what he was. But then again, he was just overcompensating, so all is forgiven.)
"Well, it's not really a matter of what I saw but it's more of a matter of what she saw. In order to see my third eye she would have to be either a Gi'turi and human half-breed like me, but you can count that possibility out because she doesn't seem to have a third eye of her own. Another possibility is that she's a complete nutter like Dru but she strikes me as somewhat lucid and sane. The third and most likely one is that she's something completely different."
He thought about his next question, deciding how to pose it in a way that would be inoffensive to Spike. Then he thought, screw it, you only live for two millennia anyway. Might as well live on the edge. So he came right out and asked him.
"Spike, did you kidnap her from the Order of Eythrace or from the Order of Apollo?"
All activity in the room stopped and a tense silence filled the air. Jh'tygn dropped his cards and his jaw, and even oblivious Clem looked up in interest. All eyes turned to Spike, who merely blinked and said "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Spike. Did you kidnap her from the any of the two Orders?"
Spike thought about it long and hard. He had known about the cults that had survived throughout the ages, worshipping older gods of Olympian pantheons past. They presided over the realm of the arcane knowledge and they were the instigators and inventors of many esoteric practices that carried over from pagan times. They also trained and selected young women who showed prescient potential for induction into their order as future Oracles. He had even met Ka'yeh, the current Oracle of Erythrace in a party at Henry Miller's flat many years ago. But he highly doubted that this had anything to do with the Order of Oracles, especially since the candidates were usually chosen before puberty, while Darcy was already 21.
"No. I didn't take her from any of the Orders. She's just some girl. Maybe you're just being paranoid and she didn't actually see anything." He took some kittens out of his crate and raised the stakes to three kittens. He really didn't like where this talk was going so he decided to change the subject.
"Have you checked on those neuroscientists I was talking about?" Spike asked, hoping divert flow of the conversation away from ancient Orders and Darcy. Besides, the reason for this meeting was to find out what information they had gathered about this chip.
"Yes. Apparently one of them, Filche is working at the Gestalt Institute in Germany. He's in the middle of some research work but he should be back in a month or two. Another one, Eisenbaum, just died recently- the obituary was on the New York Times about a week ago. Posh funeral. Juster is retired somewhere in New England and Norton is teaching at a private college in Boston." Misha replied, having spent the past three weeks making personal visits select members of the roster of the American Psychological Association.
When Spike first started his investigations he deduced that at least a few members of the APA were consulted by the government when they designed the chip, specifically those working within the behavioral and neuroscience perspectives. Sure enough, after giving Misha some money to bribe the clerks at the filing office, he was able to find the names of which the neuroscientists that Walsh and the Initiative contracted. There were four names- Juster, Norton, Eisenbaum and Filche, and the idea was to discover if one of them was the 'specialist' that Wolfram and Hart had offered to send him to.
This directly tied to another trail that Spike was pursuing concerning the chip's manufacturers. He was able to obtain some copies of government files that pertained to the companies they subcontracted. The problem was that it wasn't really a matter of which companies were contracted by the government, but rather which companies weren't. However, he was sure that the psychological consultant for the chip would know about who built it. If he couldn't get the damn thing surgically removed, then he would go to the manufacturer and find a loophole or a method of disarming it.
In the meantime he had also assigned Jh'tygn to look for other methods of chipectomy by asking around the demon world. Since Spike had attained the status of pariah amongst his own kind and other demons, his mobility was often limited to shrinking social circles. Hence Jh'tygn served as his eyes and ears about what was happening.
"Which of them have immediate family or anybody we could get to them through?" Spike asked, taking out a cigarette from his pack of Marlboros. "You know- small children, wives and lovers… That sort of thing. Easy collateral."
"Well, Eisenbaum was the one who had children, but he's dead and useless. Filche is a bachelor and some say, the biggest creampuff this side of Bob Liberace. Juster is married and has two grown sons while Norton just got divorced from his second wife, no kids." Misha said, flipping through a dossier that he produced from his bag.
"Hey, can you guys keep it down? We're trying to play a game here", said Clem, who (along with Jh'tygn) had apparently regained his interest in poker even after all the talk of Oracles and whatnot this evening.
Spike sighed and decided to retire his hand. He turned to Jh'tygn and after a brief inquiry about what he found out about the chip, he encouraged him to keep looking. He motioned to Misha to follow him to the couch where they could have a private talk without disturbing the poker enthusiasts.
"What are you thinking?" asked Misha, as soon as he joined Spike on the couch.
"Well, I was wondering about which doctor you thought was the one that was working under Wolfram and Hart." Spike said, his brow furrowed.
"Filche seems to be a pretty clean guy- his interest is mainly research, so I doubt that he would sully his hands with the Wolfram folk. Juster retired because of arthritis, so I doubt the old fogey can even hold a scalpel. I think that the most likely bet is Norton, since I doubt he's getting paid very highly at that private school teaching job. Plus he's got alimony payments to make for his bitca of a second wife. You should see this broad- fake nails, fuchsia pink outfits, poodles- she's a real piece of work. Bet she's sleeping with her trainer or-"
"Don't get so carried away. What about Eisenbaum?" Spike asked, rubbing his forehead.
"It could have been Eisenbaum but tough luck, he's dead."
They sat there in silence, contemplating the futility of their task.
"What do your psychic vibes tell you about this?" Spike inquired, thinking privately that Misha's supposed prescience never did anybody any good.
"Sorry boss. Not really getting anything on this one. I can only tell what's about to happen- I can't tell about the past. Besides, these things are pretty erratic. People just can't summon them up at will and I don't have any crystal balls or that voodoo hoodoo."
"Right."
Spike leaned his head back on the couch exhausted from all of these weeks of planning and taking care of Darcy. He was under a lot of stress lately and he wasn't getting any help from the Slayer or those so-called white hats.
The past few days had been a flurry of preparation, of phone calls and inquiries that had finally culminated in a meeting comparing notes. If Darcy wasn't around he could do all of this investigation himself, but he was hampered by her presence.
However, he had to concede that if he didn't have her there, he also wouldn't have one more thing to barter with- the money. Plus, he could always hand her over to the folks at Wolfram and Hart in case all of his current endeavors ended in failure.
Suddenly, he became very curious about what it was that Misha sensed in Darcy. It might actually shed some light on why Buffy had asked him to protect her and why the firm was so desperate to have her.
He turned to his companion.
"Hey, are you positive that she saw your third eye?"
Misha met his gaze full on. "One hundred percent sure."
"How did you know?"
"Gut feeling. You know… I'm psychic." Misha shrugged.
Spike thought about it for a while.
"Dru could do this thing where she would go into somebody's head to find out if they were telling the truth or to see if there was anything that made them tick." He said slowly, not sure if the half-breed would be amenable to doing what he was suggesting.
"Are you saying that I should do a mind probe?"
Spike looked away from the intense stare that he was suddenly on the receiving end of.
"Maybe. Possibly."
Then after a beat, he amended.
"Definitely."
TBC